


Alis Volat Propriis

by royaltyjunk



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Post-Canon, Trauma, final dungeon spoilers by the way, jambuhbye simeon bonjam trauma might as well be the title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyjunk/pseuds/royaltyjunk
Summary: For the first time since they separated, Primrose felt something happy remembering something from her journey. There was no longing for the past, nor was there sadness. There was only happiness.





	Alis Volat Propriis

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Ideas: Hi I love this pairing and will stand by it  
> aLSO HOW DID THIS BECOME 7K I DON'T KNOW  
> By the way you should definitely listen to Prim’s theme during the last scene ha ha it’ll be real fun

Primrose hurried through the abandoned manse, taking the stairs two at a time as she rushed to find someplace to hide.

It all started when Revello had mentioned, rather offhandedly, that there were remnants of the Obsidian still lurking about the Obsidian Manse that Albus, the Right-Hand Man, had been in charge of. Of course, Primrose could not allow the disaster that had befell Noblecourt to happen once again. Despite Revello’s attempts to stop her, she insisted on going.

And here she was, racing though this stupid building that brought back too many memories—mostly bad ones—for someplace to hide.

The master room where Albus had once dwelled was just down the hallway now—she could see it. There were also a number of people outside. The footsteps of the men following her drew nearer. She ducked into a nearby room before they could see her.

She found herself in a room of bookshelves, covered from top to bottom in books and literary lists. She shut the door behind her and looked around in awe. This… This must have been Simeon’s room.

So shocked was she that she did not even see the figure approaching her slowly, as if out of disbelief.

“Primrose?” he asked, shock painted across his face. Only then did Primrose realize who he was.

It had been a good three years since she had seen any one of her companions from the travels. They still kept in touch through letters, but Primrose found the news to be rather outdated by the time they reached her home. Still, some things never changed.

She’d heard that Alfyn and Ophilia made valiant attempts to go the Merchants’ Fair every year to see Tressa. She knew that H’aanit’s hunts led her throughout the realm; she had once come to Noblecourt in search of a beast, but Primrose had been out of town and by the time she returned H’aanit was gone. She knew Olberic frequently ventured into the Sunlands to meet with his old friend Erhardt, and occasionally ran across Therion, wandering about nostalgically.

Cyrus, to tell the truth, was the ever-changing variable. He ran from place to place, gathering books to help him in his scholarly pursuits. One day he was in Everhold, the next back in Atlasdam, and then the next in Marsalim. His letters, dated two weeks ago, told of his current adventures. Primrose learned to never believe he was where he said he was in the letters. He would already be gone by then.

“What… What are you doing here!?” she finally asked incredulously.

“That man’s, Mattias’s, diary that we read in the Gate of Finis. He mentioned a connection with Simeon. I thought to come here and see if there were any books on the Gate of Finis in here. And I was right! There are a few, but they are a good few. They will surely suffice in my research. Although I must admit, I had been planning to visit you. I did not think I would run into you so soon.”

“You should have told me!” Primrose crossed her arms, sighing. “For someone who is a renowned scholar, you ever are the impulsive one, aren’t you?”

“I—” Cyrus paused, and Primrose stiffened when she heard the sound of pounding footsteps and yells of “Where are they!?”

“Hide!” she hissed, and he scrambled behind the bookshelf. She followed, and no sooner did the footsteps approach the door.

“What is happening?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Remnants of the Obsidian,” she replied.

“The Obsidian?” Cyrus questioned incredulously. “But—”

“Yes. I’m afraid they might be planning the same thing that happened to my father. So I need to stop them.” She stated plainly. Cyrus stared at her before speaking up.

“Allow me to come with you.”

“But—”

“Two heads are better than one, are they not? We have fought together many times, Primrose. Surely you ought to know this by now.”

She let out a sigh and a soft laugh, covering her lips with her hand. For the first time in a while, a warm feeling bubbled up in her heart. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Be careful, though.”

“You needn’t remind me,” he responded, and stayed closely behind her. As the men pushed open the door to the room, Primrose leaped out of the shadows and hastily threw a dagger. It found its place in the chest of a nearby man, and he went down with a strangle yelp. Men rushed into the room, and they fell into old habits as Cyrus called down lightning, striking them down, and Primrose stayed in front of him, lashing out at any enemy who got too close.

For a time, it was as though they had gone back to that time three years ago, where they knew without even speaking where the other would strike, and how to cover for them. For the first time since they separated, Primrose felt something happy remembering something from her journey. There was no longing for the past, nor was there sadness. There was only happiness.

In the end, though, the enemies were dispatched of, and it was nothing more than a little skirmish. Primrose couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she went to retrieve her dagger.

“Did they really think they could revive such a large organization as the Obsidian with such small and weak numbers?”

“Perhaps they did. We must never underestimate our foes,” Cyrus responded, closing his book.

“I suppose so. But they won’t be coming back on my watch,” she paused, and then turned to look at him. “So, care to stay for awhile?” she questioned, a soft smile on her lips. “My house is rather empty.”

Cyrus laughed. “Of course, if you would have me.”

As they left, Primrose healed the small wounds he had received, and the feathery feeling of warmth she had been holding back swept through her heart. All she could do was smile as they walked back to her large house.

~ / . / . / ~

“Primrose?” Cyrus’s voice sounded through the door to her dressing room.

“Just a moment,” she called back, glancing at herself in the hand mirror. Satisfied, she got up and opened the door.

Cyrus stood outside, a book in his hand and his cape in his arms. Her fan was in his other hand, and she took it from him.

“Thank you,” she murmured, holding the fan in her hand. “Is it my turn?”

“The stage is all yours,” Cyrus responded, smiling. “They seem to be awaiting your performance with high expectations.”

“I see. Well then, I will see you when I finish,” she replied, smoothing out her dress and unfolding her fan.

“Of course.” He offered her a final smile and left, likely to find himself a seat among the eager audience. She adjusted her dress.

Ever since her return to Noblecourt, Primrose had taken on dancing as a hobby in the nearby tavern. People of the town were quite a bit skeptical of a noblewoman taking on such a hobby, but she made her skill and talent clear. No one dared question her afterwards.

Yet, the people of the town did not know who she had been before. They did not know the Primrose of the Sunlands, who showed her body with no hesitation—not because of the heat but because of the charm. Because of the way men turned their heads as she walked down the streets, because of the way she was able to be seductive with any movement of her body.

Now, she was known as a humble noblewoman whose dances inspired emotions unlike any other. She wore long dresses with flared skirts and sleeves, with nothing that showed off her once-prized body. Primrose knew Cyrus had been startled when she emerged from her room with a long, flowy dress tucked in the crook of her arm. He was used to her two-piece dance set, and he knew she had loved it. She knew he was curious and surprised, but dared not to ask for fear of angering her.

Primrose pulled at her sleeves before sighing and climbing up the stairs to the bright stage. Encouraging applause echoed through the tavern, and she smiled, giving a curtsy before positioning herself to start her dance.

Music began slowly, and her body moved on its own. She spun with beauty and grace, dancing and twirling across the stage. Her dress followed her as she twisted and turned, and with every spin she folded and unfolded her fan, smiling with each turn of her body.

Finally, as the swelling music came to a close, she fell to the ground in a dramatic move. There was a split second of silence, and then applause burst forth from the audience. She stood, her chest heaving for breath as she bowed and made her way off stage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cyrus make his way through the bustling audience towards her.

“Stunning as always,” he commented as soon as she had exited the stage. She gave him a weary smile as she climbed down the stairs. “You never cease to amaze me, Primrose.”

“You flatter me, Cyrus,” she replied, and let him drape his cape over her shoulders. “It was a simple show today. It was nothing to be impressed about.”

“You forget that you have described me as having two left feet. I am impressed by any fluid and graceful movement that is aesthetically pleasing to the eye.”

Primrose muffled a laugh behind her hand and tugged at his arm. “Let’s go, before you completely destroy my reputation here.”

“In what way am I—”

“Lady Primrose, that was a magnificent show today!” One man cried, rushing up to her as soon as she, pulling Cyrus along, had emerged from the stairs of the stage. Other men began to crowd around as well, and Primrose blinked.

“Um, thank you,” she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… I’m flattered.”

“Please, will you not teach me!?” one man asked pleadingly. “You would be a wonderful teacher!” A chorus of agreement from other men fill the tavern. Primrose bit her lip, attempting to say something, but could find nothing. She closed her lips and swallowed.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Cyrus’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Despite it, he moved to step in front of her and, before the men could say anything, started speaking.

“My apologies, but Primrose seems to be rather tired. If you will excuse us.”

He nodded for Primrose to lead the way, and she pulled him along, avoiding any stares or glares they got.

“Is something wrong?” Cyrus asked when they made it out of the tavern and the fresh nighttime breeze greeted them. “Normally—”

“It’s different now.” Primrose cut him off before he could complete his sentence. “It’s… very different now.” She let out a heaving sigh, and Cyrus remained silent.

“...I understand,” he murmured, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. When she flinched, he withdrew it, worry sparking in his eyes. She shook her head and continued walking. Cyrus hurried to catch up with her, and they continued through the streets of Noblecourt to the house of Azelhart in silence.

“You truly were beautiful,” he murmured. “I still envy your ability and skills. Even after three years… you have lost nothing. You are still so very inspiring.”

Primrose smiled softly, her lips illuminated by the lights of the street lamps even as her heart screamed that his words were not true. “...Thank you.”

“Will you teach me how to dance as gracefully as you do?” he asked.

“If you truly wish to learn,” she replied, pulling his cape closer around her.

“But of course.”

She responded with a small smile and a soft promise.

~ / . / . / ~

“To tell the truth, this was not where I expected this evening to go, but I have no complaints,” Primrose smiled over her glass of ale. Cyrus laughed.

“Indeed, I must admit I feel quite the same.”

The tavern bustled with activity tonight. Another dancer had taken on the stage after Primrose’ performance today, something that the tavern goers were unashamed to call a bad decision.

“She can’t top Lady Primrose. No one can,” one of them had said. Still, she seemed to be adequate entertainment, and that was all they cared about.

“Brainless animals,” Primrose had called them when speaking with Cyrus about the matter. “That girl is trying her gods damned best. The least they can do is appreciate it.”

Cyrus, being Cyrus, had taken it upon himself to scrutinize those tavern goers and give them quite an earful once he had gleaned enough information.

“I still cannot believe how harshly you scolded them.” Primrose laughed behind her hand.

“They were more than willing to listen once I declared that my scoldings were on behalf of Lady Azelhart and once one of them realized who I was.”

“Oh my! Professor Albright has reached levels of infamy!” The two of them shared a short laugh. “Gods, how long has it been since I went out drinking?”

“Quite too long, it seems.” Cyrus smiled. “I, too, have not shared a glass of ale with a companion in a while.”

Primrose sighed, shaking her head. “You ought to take better care of yourself, Cyrus. Not every moment needs to be spent studying and analyzing texts.”

“That seems to be the lesson my adventures taught me,” Cyrus laughed. “I promise you, Primrose, I am taking care of myself.”

“That’s good,” Primrose smiled, raising her glass of ale. He touched his glass to hers, and they both took a drink. “I’m curious. That student of yours—Therese, was it?”

“Ah, yes. Therese has been studying hard. It seems she, too, is expressing interest in becoming a teacher.”

“Really?” Primrose smiled. “Has she said anything else?”

“It seems she aspires to teach on the subject of history. She has already been promised a position as my assistant once she graduates next year.”

Primrose’s smile grew larger. “And you don’t think she has an ulterior motive with this?”

“Of course not,” Cyrus shook his head. “She is a well-mannered and determined student. She will do wonderfully as a teacher.”

He was as oblivious as could be, it seemed. In all the ways he had changed, the way of the heart was not one of them. It was as clear as day to anyone who had eyes that Therese had feelings for her stunningly handsome teacher.

Of course, Cyrus had eyes, but he was so oblivious that he might as well be blind to matters of the heart.

“That scar,” Cyrus spoke up suddenly, “just below your heart. Is that scar the reason you have taken to avoiding two pieced dancing garb?”

“Nothing escapes you,” she murmured.

To the eye of a normal man, Primrose’s beautiful body had only one blemish—the great scar that marked her just beneath her left breast. It was the scar that had come from the night of betrayals, when Simeon’s scarf had fallen into her hands and she’d seen the mark of the crow—the truth—as dark as night.

To Primrose, that scar was a reminder and a warning. A reminder of the horrid deeds people had done to her, and a warning to stay cautious, lest she be betrayed again.

Her bracelets clinked together when she reached up to toy with her earring, and Cyrus glanced at the source of the noise before he spoke again. “Ah, so my suspicions were correct. I cannot say I’m surprised, although I must admit to a bid of curiosity.”

“You of all people know very well what that scar reminds me of,” she responded, her voice soft.

“...Pray forgive my rudeness, but why do you cover the scars of your past so?”

Primrose opened her mouth to respond, but found no answer. Cyrus kept speaking.

“Do not people seek for courage and strength in a friend? Do not people look for honesty and loyalty in their companions? I believe that that scar is an example of all that you have been through. Anyone who does not wish to be your partner has befuddling logic, to say the least.”

“Cyrus…”

“Have faith in yourself, Primrose. Was that not your family’s creed? You told me that yourself, did you not?”

Faith will be your shield. Her family’s words truly were, in the end, the answer to her troubles that stemmed from lost ones. She felt her lips turn up in an unbidden smile.

~ / . / . / ~

After months of rain and snow, the sun peeked its shy head out of the clouds and Primrose had never felt more relieved.

“Those were the worst snowstorm and rain moons I’ve ever seen,” Primrose told Cyrus as they finally ventured out into the streets of Noblecourt for a morning walk. He hummed in agreement.

“I’m sure you must long to dance for an audience of more than one,” he said as he smiled.

Primrose hid her laugh behind her hand before shaking her head. “You know I didn’t mind.”

“I jest, Primrose,” he laughed as well before his smile grew larger. “I’m glad you’ve grown more comfortable with yourself though.”

“...It’s thanks to you,” she murmured, smiling back.

She’d begun to wear her former dancing outfit from the Sunlands, the outfit that Cyrus had told her to wear with confidence like she used to. Of course, she did not dare wear it to her tavern performances, but even walking outside had become a danger since the winter had come and brought the snowstorms with it. As such, she and Cyrus spent a few hours a week dancing and watching her dance respectively.

Ever since Cyrus had told her those truthful words in the haze of their night out, she had found herself more willing to act as she used to, before she had found out the truth and before she had been stabbed by the dagger of betrayal. She refused to cover her laugh with her hand as she used to, walked with a sway in her hips, and carried herself with confidence around other men.

“What do you think of the first day of spring?” Cyrus asked. Primrose pulled her shawl around her and glanced around.

“It’s… much more enjoyable than other springs,” she finally said, and Cyrus blinked.

“How so?”

“I have a companion,” she started, “and I’ve rediscovered my former self.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

“...It was my pleasure,” he replied in a small voice, and touched his hand to hers. She squeezed his hand before pulling him forward. He followed, and when she glanced back she saw a compassionate smile on his lips.

They walked across the great stone bridge beside the tavern, making their way to the stone plaza. As they stepped out from under the shadow of the overhang, a great fluttering of wings erupted from above them. The two of them started, and a pure white feather drifted down in front of them as a pair of doves took of from the overhang.

Primrose’s eyes followed the doves until they were but specks of white in the bright blue sky. Slowly, she bent and picked up the feather left behind. Cyrus looked over her shoulder at the feather.

“Feathers, in the scholarly world, are considered a symbol of life and rebirth.”

“They are?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“After all, when you heal an incapacitated enemy, feathers sprout from your healing. I do believe feathers are meant to be a symbol of life. A bird may lose many at any given moment, but there is nothing that will stop them from restarting that cycle of growth, just like we as human beings have ups and downs in our lives.”

“Mm,” Primrose hummed, her gaze pinned on the pure white feather resting in her cupped palms. “I see.”

That night she stared at the feather, still cupped in her palms, in the darkness of her own room. It seemed to glow with an ethereal light, and she pressed a kiss to the feather before setting it gently on her nightstand.

~ / . / . / ~

“It may be a little hard at first, but I’m sure if you practice, you’ll be fine,” Primrose said. Of course, she had seen the extent of Cyrus’s dancing capabilities during the travel. He had much work to do, but to start him with a simple dance would be beneficial. “I’m sure you know the position of a ballroom dance, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes,” Cyrus agreed, settling his hand on the back of her shoulder and taking her hand in his. “Like this, correct?”

Primrose smiled. “Yes, that’s right. You’re already doing better than last time.”

Cyrus laughed. “I must say, being in the constant presence of a woman who mastered the skill of dancing was nothing if not inspiring.”

She felt her cheeks flush but chose to ignore the blood rushing to her cheeks. “That’s very flattering of you to say.”

“It is nothing but the truth.”

“...I’m surprised that you haven't had to take another leave of absence from the academy,” Primrose commented laughingly.

Cyrus frowned. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” she smiled. “Would you like to try dancing now?”

“Of course. Let us begin.”

With that, he took a step forward and they began their lesson. Shockingly, he did not make many missteps, given his former performances that she had seen.

“...Have you been practicing?” she asked when they ended their dance.

“Therese has been helping me learn,” he replied. “As one of the most celebrated scholars and professors in the Royal Academy, as she stated, I ought to know how to dance in a ballroom.”

Primrose opened her lips to humorously respond, but a dim memory of a horrid man appeared in her mind, a horrid man whom had once stood in front of her in the same way that Cyrus stood in front of her right now, made her bite her lip.

“Primrose? Are you alright?”

“I… I’m alright,” she replied, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat.

“Are you sure?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes,” she said confidently.

“...If you insist.”

“I’m fine, Cyrus. Thank you for your worry though,” she smiled. “Is it alright if I give you some feedback?”

“Of course!” he smiled. “Please, go ahead.”

The slanting sunlight leaking through the window harshened and softened as the day moved on and the sun continued its course through the sky. They spent the day dancing through the large ballroom in the golden sunlight, and the bile in Primrose’s throat had slowly faded. Still, the burden in her stomach stayed there, and she found that it flowered after Cyrus spoke.

“Did you dance much as a child?” he questioned during one of the numerous breaks they took throughout the day.

“Yes,” she replied. “My father… he loved to watch me dance. And… I used to dance… with Simeon. During the noble parties my father used to host.”

As she sat on the ballroom floor with her legs pulled up to her chest and her chin tucked between her knees, her hair hung like a curtain, blocking her expression from his eyes. Through the falling threads of brown, she could see his gaze pinned on her in an attempt to discern her true emotions.

But she knew he did not need visual evidence to discern her emotions. Her voice had trembled when she had explained her past and mentioned the men who had been so very important to her. He was a logical man. He knew what a trembling voice and a hidden face meant.

“I see,” he murmured, and said nothing else. Primrose ran a hand through her hair and sighed softly before standing and offering her hand to Cyrus.

“Would you like to continue where we left off?”

“Certainly,” Cyrus agreed, standing and taking her hand. They began to dance again, spinning through the ballroom in coordinated steps.

Finally, their feet came to a slow stop. Cyrus kept his grip on her but took in deep breaths, attempting to catch his breath. Primrose sighed, staring at her feet as her hair hung in sweaty strands in front of her face.

“Primrose?”

She blinked, glancing up at him. “Is something the matter?”

“I know I am in no position to tell you this, but I know what we are doing dredges up horrid memories that you do not wish to remember. I do not wish to invite such horrors upon you, Primrose.”

Primrose pulled her hand away from his shoulder and touched a hand to his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat beneath her palm. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh before letting her hand fall to her side.

“...Thank you,” she murmured, and then turned and ran from his gentle, caring eyes.

~ / . / . / ~

Her father fell to the ground lifelessly. Three men surrounded him—men with the mark of the crow. The left-hand man was Rufus. The right-hand man was Albus. And the man with the mark on his neck, the man who had killed her father, was Simeon.

She hunted them down. Killed Rufus with a dagger to the heart and a burn of black magic over his crow’s tattoo. Killed Albus with a strike of black magic and the slit of a dagger over his crow’s tattoo.

And then Simeon. She sought him out in the city of Everhold, climbing through the amphitheatre as she watched her own life unfold before her.

Finally… she was so close to her revenge. She could finally face her father and tell him he was avenged. She could—She could—

But doubt splintered her heart as her dagger struck Simeon.

“Would your father want this?” Simeon sputtered out.

“Shut up!” Primrose screamed, throwing her hands out. Anger and fear elicited power, and dark magic poured forward from her extended fingers. The shadows wound around Simeon, taking over his legs, his torso, his neck, his face, until all that was left was the shadowy silhouette of the puppet master. Even through it all, his words rang loud and clear in her head.

“And when the moon waxes full and bright in dark heaven, and stars glitter worlds away from earthly sorrow, would that Sleep hold you in her soft embrace. Then shall my eyes close, lips open in prayer—”

“For it is only in dreams that we may meet again,” Primrose finished, and her lip trembled as she raised her dagger. “Goodbye, Simeon.”

And then she was waking up with tears running unbidden down her cheeks as she stared through the darkness of the night, looking for something, anything, to latch onto.

She wiped her tears away and, almost mindlessly, stood up. The house was dark and silent. After all, one of its two inhabitants had already gone to sleep—at least until now.

Its two inhabitants… she pondered upon the thought that had invited itself into her mind. Her fingers moved almost instinctively, reaching for the table beside her bed and grasping hold of the pure white feather she and Cyrus had found.

Cyrus… she ought to go see Cyrus. Perhaps he, of all people, would help her with her pain and terror. She clutched the feather in her palm, tucking it into the folds of her dress before rushing down the hallway to the guest room. She pushed the door open and saw Cyrus’s head shoot up.

“Primrose?” he asked.

“What time is it?” she asked. He glanced over at the large clock hanging from the wall.

“Half past twenty three hours. Is something the matter?”

“I—” Primrose stopped for a second. She could trust him—of course she could! They had spent close to half a year travelling together. They had seen each other at their highest points and at their lowest points. There was no need or use to hide anything. “I had a nightmare and—and I think I’m going to have an anxiety attack.”

Immediately, Cyrus was moving. He practically dragged her onto the bed and forced her to sit down, pulling the covers over her. “Stay here. I will go brew you some tea. If you need me, yell. I will come right away.”

Without waiting for a response he exited the room, leaving Primrose stunned and blinking. Instead of wondering—she was so sick of wondering and thinking and reasoning—she simply turned her attention to her surroundings.

Her cuticles had grown out again. She ought to cut them. Cyrus’s stack of books was beginning to diminish. They ought to go find more books. The smell of peach blossoms was in the air, and a teacup sat on Cyrus’s desk. He must have been having tea himself. The candle on his desk was dripping wax rapidly. He must have been up for a while, studying and researching.

Cyrus appeared in the doorway, a teapot and a teacup held precariously in his hands. He placed them down on the nightstand beside her and poured her a cup.

“What is it?” she asked as he handed her the cup and the smell of flowers began to permeate the air around them.

“Jasmine, lavender, and honey. If you find anything not of your liking, tell me.”

“I will,” she promised, and then moved to the left a little. Cyrus sat down beside her, watching as she took a sip. She nodded in approval. “It’s good,” she told him.

“That’s a relief,” he replied, smiling. “You must be wondering how I knew to brew such a tea.”

“...Yes,” she admitted. Cyrus laughed softly.

“When I started my career as a scholar and a professor, I, too, was struck with many anxious nights. A colleague of mine, as unruly as she was, oft made me this brew when I was studying. I found it most helpful.”

“I see,” she murmured and took another sip. It was soothing, the feeling of something warm in her stomach as she mulled over nightmares and horrors of the past.

“Pray tell me, if you are comfortable, what you dreamed about,” he requested. Primrose took a sip of the tea before letting out a sigh. She handed the teacup to him, and he placed it on the nightstand. Having hot liquids near a person prone to sudden movements was not a good idea.

“It was… of my father’s death, and the three crows that I sought out for revenge. Yet… this time it was different. Now… I know who the three crows are. And now, he torments me in my dreams.” Her fingers curled tight into fists.

Cyrus touched his hand to her shoulder reassuringly. They both knew the “he” she spoke of who haunted her in her dreams, but were too afraid to put a name to the thought, to put an identity to the truth.

“What did he say?” Cyrus asked coaxingly.

“They were the same as the words we shared in the amphitheatre. They were the words we shared when I went to steal his life away from him. And I—I—”

Her hands began to tremble, and she bit her lip so hard she feared she would draw blood. All the panic and anxiety and fear that she had managed to barely push away came flooding back. The insults and the screams flooded her ears, washed over all her senses, made her tremble and seize up in terror—

“Primrose—”

“It’s been three years, Cyrus! I can’t—I can’t—There’s nothing that will heal me, and I—What if there’s something, something wrong with me? Why can’t I just… just forget him!? I took his life because I believed it was the right thing to do, but now even faith cannot be my shield when doubt is fighting against me! What—Why—Why!?”

She took in a trembling breath, and Cyrus drew his arm around her, letting her rest on his shoulder.

“Primrose… have you been haunted so ever since we parted ways?”

All Primrose could do was give a small nod.

“Primrose… I am so sorry…” he whispered, letting her curl her fingers into his coat as she clung to him, tears streaking along her face. He held her in a gentle hug, and Primrose pressed herself against him, as if holding tight to him would fight off the demons she was battling.

“It’s… not your fault…” she whispered through the breathlessness that her tears left her in. “It’s all mine… I’m the one who chose… to trust him…”

“It is not your fault, and neither is it mine. It is the fault of the man who caused you such horror.”

“But—”

“No one blames you, Primrose. You did all that you could. You did all that you had to do.”

Her tears grew heavier, and she pressed herself against Cyrus as sobs racked her body. He held her close as she wept and cried. There was no shame anymore. He was here—he knew the pain she had gone through, the hurt she had experienced. He knew it all. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Only when her tears stopped did she find the strength to whisper, “It’s okay,” and the courage to press a gentle hand to his heart.

They stayed like that for an almost infinite number of minutes, simply savoring how it felt to be comforted by someone who truly understood.

“Are you alright now?” Cyrus finally asked. She nodded, and in a shared thought they let go of each other. Primrose wiped at her eyes and glanced around. Cyrus reached out, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. When he drew back, his thumb was covered in black.

“Just some make-up you missed,” he murmured. “You must have been rather tired to have missed that.”

“Yeah,” Primrose agreed with a breathless laugh. Her heartbeat thrummed steadily in her ears.

Cyrus reached over to the nightstand and took hold of her teacup. He handed it to her, and she took a small sip.

“Really, Cyrus… thank you. You… didn’t have to do all this.”

“Nonsense. You came to me. Who was I to refuse you?” He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. “...You have been tormented long enough, Primrose. I can only pray that you will have better nights of sleep ahead of you.”

“...Thank you, Cyrus,” she murmured. “If you don’t mind… will you let me stay here with you?”

“Of course.” He took her teacup from her and smiled. “You ought to sleep.”

“Mm,” she murmured softly, resting her head on the pillow and closing her eyes.

As her eyes fell heavy with drowsiness and the remainders of her tears, she felt a gentle hand rest on her cheek and heard his voice softly whisper, “May you rest well tonight, Primrose.”

The next morning, Primrose awoke to sunlight leaking through the curtains and Cyrus’s peaceful, slumbering face. She touched a hand to the dip between his collarbones, where the scar remained from when she had saved his life, and let her lips turn up into a smile when his hand moved to brush over the scar under her breast and his black eyes flickered open. Feathers of warmth drifted through her heart as he rested his forehead on hers.

In that tender moment, it was undeniable that their hearts had connected more than ever before.

~ / . / . / ~

There came a time when Cyrus’s presence felt normal in her large noble house. They shared everything, from meals to books to dances to secrets. They took to daily walks around the town, greeting everyone as they made for the roads they had once travelled along. They spent many hours in the library of Noblecourt, scouring it for scholarly material and exchanging book recommendations. He found himself more indulgent toward the tragic novels she leaned toward, and she in turn found herself more interested in the different philosophical texts he studied. They sat together outside under the arches of roses, reading aloud to each other.

They were so inseparable that it became common for fetching young travelers or new and curious townspeople to ask if Cyrus was her consort. They both learned to brush off the question. “Simply old friends reunited,” one of them would say, while the other smiled and laughed along.

Both knew there was only a little bit of truth in those words. After all, what kind of “simple friends” were they that traded hand kisses between the bookshelves of the library and spent the nights pressed tight together, savoring the sound of the other’s heartbeat against their ear?

But there was a mutual sense of fear. Fear—she knew—that stemmed from the thought of hurting her. Fear that stemmed from the thought of loving another when they had duties that called them so. Fear, they both knew, that stemmed from simply loving another.

And so neither said anything. Neither did anything. What could they do in the face of fear? They both recognized that they could choose to either face the fear or run away.

“I must be going,” he told her during dinner one day when the leaves had begun to change color. The color drained from Primrose’s face.

“What…?”

“I have dallied here long enough. The school year is beginning soon. There are lessons to plan, texts to study. I must return to Atlasdam and prepare.”

“When will you leave?”

“On the morrow of our meal tomorrow morning. It will not take me long to journey back, but it had best be by the light of day.”

They continued the meal in silence. Only then did Primrose realize the choice he had made.

He began packing up his belongings that night, scrambling throughout the house in search of his belongings. She handed him a book she had left on her nightstand and turned to leave.

“Primrose,” Cyrus said. “Just a moment.”

“Is something the matter?” she asked, turning to face him. He stood in silence for a moment, as if contemplating his next action, before looking her in the eyes.

“May I… have this last dance with you?” When he offered his hand, Primrose could not help but laugh.

“Oh, Cyrus…” she whispered before taking his hand.

“I could not have asked for a better teacher and companion,” he said, smiling as they began to dance to an imaginary tune. “Truly, this has been one of my greatest experiences. Thank you, Primrose.”

She shook her head. “There is no need to thank me. It was you who brought life back into my dull existence. For that… I should thank you.”

In that moment, she found herself closer to him than ever before. There was a tantalizing urge, an alluring desire to say something, to do anything, but she knew he had duties to perform, pupils to look after, and a post to stay at. He had a purpose, unlike her. She could not stop him from pursuing it.

And so she watched as he came downstairs for breakfast the next morning with his belongings in his hands and said nothing when he finished and turned to look at her.

“I will go with you,” she said before he could say a farewell. He simply nodded.

They walked the streets of Noblecourt in solemn silence, their feet taking them instinctively out of the city, for that was where they oft went during their walks.

This… This was their last walk. After this, there would be nobody to accompany Primrose to the tavern where she danced. There would be nobody to dance with when she wished to dance. There would be nobody to cry with. There would be nobody to share a secret with, nobody to hold tight, nobody to cling to and tell of her troubles.

And suddenly, she felt so very lonely.

“I will leave you here,” Cyrus spoke up, jolting her out of her thoughts. She turned quickly to look at him. They had already come to the border between Noblecourt’s outskirts and the trail leading to Atlasdam.

“I…” Primrose swallowed and nodded. “Very well. …Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. May your journey be a safe one.”

She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him on the cheek. As quickly as she had done the deed, she was moving away. Cyrus’s hands found hers, and she could not find it in her heart to pull her hands away, even if she knew it was for both their goods that she ought to.

“I pray that we will meet again,” he whispered, his thumbs grazing over her knuckles. She couldn’t say anything, because she did not know what to say. She simply nodded. He in turn leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Primrose’s fingers tightened against his, holding him firmly before letting him go.

“Safe travels,” she replied softly. “May the Flame guide your path.”

“May the Flame guide your path as well,” Cyrus repeated, a gentle look in his eyes. Without another word, he turned and made his way down the Western Noblecourt Flats. She stared after him, remembering how they had walked the same road together years ago, when they were companions in travel and existed carefreely in a world of adventure.

But then her world had come tumbling down in an avalanche of betrayal and death, and soon after her companions that she had come to trust and admire and care for left for adventures of their own. All she had was her hometown, her dancing feet, and the grave of the man who had been the reason for her beliefs for so many years.

And then she had no reason. No belief. No will. No one’s sake to carry on for but her own and the memories of those she had lost.

The wind kicked at her, sending her hair flowing behind her. In the distance, Cyrus’s cape rose with the breeze. She was struck with the sudden urge to race after him, to take his hand and spin him around, to hold him tight as he froze in confusion because he did not understand the whims of women, being the oblivious bloke he was.

Only once before had she been taken in by such a desire, when a white-haired gardener’s apprentice stood in the distance, staring at the sky forlornly as she slipped past him and ran away, far away from her past and fallen father and the villains who had done to him the deed of death.

But that was years ago, and that man had betrayed her. And Cyrus… Cyrus was free. He was himself. He was a person, an individual, who had found his purpose and pursuit in life.

He was a bird, soaring into the sky—away from her—and leaving only feathers to remember him by. He flew by his own wings and followed his own heart.

How foolish Primrose had been to hope that loving him would fill the void in her numb and hopeless heart.


End file.
